


Ghost Lights

by orphan_account



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Baby, Gen, Ghosts, Lights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4076149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghosts love lights, love to flicker them, love to turn them off or on. This ghost likes to tell people to kill others. The Lamp Made Me Do It, is something Buffy Summers isn't buying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Lights

“Mommy, can I go play outside?” asked a little six-year old boy, rocking back on the heels of his little converse. His mommy was on the phone, jaw flapping with the neighbor lady; she was real nice, she always had a fresh baked cookie waiting for him whenever he would go over to play with her son. Mommy waved her hand, telling him ‘fine, now stop bothering mommy, you mistake’. “I’m going to go up in the tree house!”

Again, ‘fine, now stop bothering me you mistake’ and out the door John, the little boy, went. He jumped onto the grass, falling onto the soft blades of green on his hands and knees.

John looked up at the tree house, a place that was full of dark shadows, and smiled. The sky, was dotted with fluffy white clouds, was intensely blue, unlike the smoky gray sky at his old home in Los Angeles.

“I am coming, Patrick!” said the little boy. The neighbor lady’s son was named Blake, not Patrick.

His mother turned her back from the sliding glass door and all the imprints of a wet lab’s nose that covered the surface and sat down at the table and poured her fourth…fifth…sixth glass of wine that afternoon.

“I don’t really want John playing with Blake, anymore,” said the neighbor lady, Sheridan. The scent of freshly cut grass was heavy in the sun warmed air. “He’s been a little creepy with Patrick.”

Her voice cracked strangely. “Who’s Patrick?”

“I think disturbing is a better way to put it, especially after he drew my son being hung by Patrick.”

“Sheridan, who the fuck is Patrick?”

“John’s imaginary friend,” said Sheridan. “Your son sits and talks to lamps, claiming Patrick in in the light.”

What she had just said made her pulse thrum. “It’s a phase, Sheridan, I had an imaginary friend when I was John’s age.” She could smell a quarrel coming on.

“And I believe you are fueling Patrick, Gretchen,” said Sheridan, continuing with this bullshit babble. “John was misbehaving and when I asked him to stop he asked me why I wouldn’t stop sleeping with the neighbor.”

Gretchen put down the glass of wine; Sheridan had her attention. “He said Patrick told him what the neighbor and I did when William is at work.”

“You’re…sleeping with…Benji Thompson?” What a slutwhore!

“Keep your mouth shut about me and keep John away from my family before he ruins my marriage,” Sheridan growled. “You know what, you stay away from my family as well.”

Click.

John was starting to live up to his name the mistake; he had just cost her, her friendship. All because of some dumb imaginary friend! She slammed the phone down and drank down the rest of the wine before standing up and bursting outside, face twisted in anger. “You are dead Jonathan Wayne Frye!”

 

“According to the report, she watched him fall out of the tree house and splat on the ground below,” read Willow to Oz, Faith, and Xander. “Then, the lights in the house got so bright, that they exploded. Gretchen Frye is still in the hospital.”

Cordelia gripped her head and snapped up. “First off, Willow, yuck and second, Giles, Rose can one of you shut that baby up?”

Rupert Giles and Rose Giles looked over at Cordelia with blood shot and tired eyes, the librarian’s arms full of screaming pink and white little girl. Not little girl like John little boy. Six months old, not six years old. 

“C’mon, c’mon sweetheart,” cooed Mrs. Giles. “You got to go to school today to be with papa.”

“And papa has you dear,” cooed Giles. “Papa has you.”

“Is Shiloh teething, or something?” asked Buffy. “Might be real simple to buy a teething ring and be done.”

“Or a frozen waffle…they have built in drool cups,” laughed Willow.

“She sleeps fine at night but totally wigs if one of us puts on her aquarium or nightlight, she’s been sleeping in the pitching black, which is something I cannot do,” said Rose Giles.

“Shiloh cries from sunrise to bedtime,” sighed Giles, his voice sounded hollow. “Put her with no lights and she’s fine. Lights, she, uh…wigs.”

“I can fix this no problem,” said Oz, getting up. He strolled over to the wall and clicked the lights off, dispelling Shiloh’s cries to whimpers against her daddy’s coated shoulder. Oz turned to Willow and flexed. “Does it turn you on that I have a natural fatherly instinct?”

“For something completely unnatural,” said Willow.

“Great job, wolfie, but how are we supposed to study in the dark?” asked Xander.

The doors to the library burst open and in stormed Snyder. “I’m a little tea pot,” sang Rose, earning a glare from everyone in the room. “Stephen King? Storm of the Century? Someone has to know what I am talking about…right?”

“During school hours and when there are students in the library, lights are to remain on,” said Snyder, clicking the lights back on, starting up the screams again. “By the way, Rupert Giles, shut that kid of yours up. I could fire you for bringing your child to work. Your noisy child.”

“Oh! Sir, it’s really okay, we can study by the table lamps,” said Willow, Cordelia nodding in agreement. “That way little Shiloh can stop crying and we can still study!”

“No, Rosenberg, The Giles’s have to learn how to properly raise a child,” sneered Snyder. “A forty-three year old and someone barely out of high school. Trying to relive your youth?”

Giles and Buffy shot him a flabbergasted look but Rose remained calm. “Snyder, can we talk in your office?” she asked. Rose worked as a science teacher, but had recently dropped down to sub, due to Shiloh.

When she first came to Sunnydale High, it was no secret that Snyder was smitten, but Rose had a thing for British punks by the name of Ripper that had grown up.

He straightened his tie and puffed out his chest. “Of course we can, Rose,” he said, holding out his arm.

She did not take it but pushed out the door, clicking the light off, “And it’s Mrs. Giles,” said Rose. “Or Mrs. Ripper Giles if you prefer.”

That added bit about Ripper Giles would annoy Snyder to no end. Willow clicked on the table lamp and resumed her reading from the rather large book in front of her but the screams did not dispel from Shiloh. “Oh, sweetheart, auntie Willow needs the light on to study,” said Giles, bouncing his arms.


End file.
